Surviving
by lexieandmark
Summary: Mark and Lexie survive the tragic plane crash, but what happens now? How will they rebuild their lives, their love? A story about our favorite couple trying to rummage through the wreckage to find strength, light, and beauty, despite the challenges that lay ahead. (Will probably change to M rating)
1. Chapter 1

**After yet another season commences without our beloved Slexie, I just couldn't stand it any longer; I had to do something about it, (or rather, write something about it). In this version, Mark and Lexie have both survived the tragic plane crash, albeit with serious injuries. Expect some drama, fluff, humor, intrigue...and some smut here and there. Enjoy :)**

* * *

The first thing she saw was white. White, bright light. _This is it,_ Lexie Grey thought, with a strange sense of calm_, This is the end for me._

As she focused in on the blinding beacon, however, she couldn't help but notice it dimming ever so slightly. _Shit, am I going to hell? Seriously? I've had my moments, but come ON!_

Then came a beep. _Strange,_ she observed, confused in her already groggy state, _they never told me about beeping in church. White lights, that's a given. A sudden feeling of calm, sure. Maybe even some pearly gates. But a beeping sound? Not once. _Another beep. _Am I in purgatory?! _

The little sound struck a strange chord in Lexie, one of a deep-rooted and comfortable familiarity. _It sounds like a heart monitor_, she thought bemusedly. _Which is so funny, because that would mean I'd be in a hospital. And we all know they don't have hospitals in heaven, or wherever the hell - heck, God might be listening - I am._

But there it was again, louder and clearer, the white light fading by the second. _Definitely hell_, she resolved glumly.

The uncanny noise began increasing in frequency, till it became incessant, overwhelming, oppressive. _I want out. If this is the afterlife, it's a terrible deal. How am I supposed to sleep?! _

Then a long, continual toll, followed by an frantic and unknown voice, "Oh my god! She's flatlining!"

_Who CARES? It's heaven, not Seattle Grace._

Something round and firm was being pressed to her mouth, air rushing into her lungs. She gasped, pupils suddenly adjusting to take in a tiled ceiling strangely reminiscent of a hospital. Lexie's idea of the Great Beyond certainly didn't involve repeating her residency.

A face, then, came shakily into focus. A dark face, a warm face... Miranda Bailey's face?!

"Lexie, Lexie Grey! Lexie, look at me! You suffered severe trauma in a plane crash three weeks ago. You've been in a medically induced coma and you just flatlined; you're breathing on your own! This is amazing, Grey, you pulled through! Can you speak? Lexie, honey, look at me! What's the last thing you remember?"

She parted her lips, suddenly realizing they were dry, parched even, her throat even more so. And she had only one word on her mind. The one word that, even in her half-alive state, she knew to be what mattered, what kept her rooted to the beeping and the tiles and away from the white light. "Mark," she whispered, barely audible.

Everything went black.

* * *

Mark Sloan shifted in his bed for what seemed like the millionth time that day; hell, the millionth time that month. He had been in a pretty abysmal state that first week, most of it a blur. All he could remember were his fervent thoughts of Lexie, then quickly blacking out. Lexie, blackout. Lexie, blackout.

The second week, slowly relinquishing his former strength, he was finally capable of conversing, though still on strict bed rest. When he heard Lexie was in a medically induced coma as a last resort attempt to reduce the swelling in her brain, he felt utterly confused, not knowing whether to be elated she'd survived or devastated she was facing such danger.

Naturally, he settled on being both in unpredictable but equal measure, alternating between snapping at the staff followed by protracted silences, and quipping dryly about the hospital food while asking anyone who would listen about Lexie's health status. It was always the same, every morning, every night; they 'would know more when she woke up.'

After his inquiry that particular morning, his usual AM nurse, Mariah, a large, authoritative woman whom Mark had come to both like and respect, told him, "Look, Mark-"

"That's Dr. Sloan to you," he grumbled, narrowing his piercing eyes in mock-seriousness.

She rolled her eyes, continuing, "Look, Mark, we've been through this. Everyone's trying their very best, and we'll know more when she wakes up. What you need to focus on is staying in bed. No more impromptu trips to the ICU, okay? You're lucky you're alive, buddy, don't push it."

"If," Mark said, his light tone eviscerated.

Mariah was flipping through his chart and looked up quickly at the sound of his voice cutting through the heart monitor. "Excuse me?"

"_If_ she wakes up."

"Hey," she put the the chart down, resting her hand on his shoulder. "You can't be thinking like that, Dr. Sloan."

"What, no more 'Mark' because the love of my life might die tomorrow?" He got a sick sense of pleasure out of saying those words; not because he wanted them to be true, but because he wanted someone else, anyone else, to experience the same tumultuous grief he endured every minute of every day. He wanted his love back. What was the gift of life without Little Grey?

Mariah, immune to his dramatics, looked at him sternly. "No," she said, hand on her hip, "because she needs you. And you're a better man, a stronger man, than you are being right now. You ought to be ashamed. Take your medicine, get your rest, think good thoughts. I didn't say it was gonna be easy, but she needs you."

With that, she turned on her heel and sashayed out of the room.

Properly chastened, Mark looked down at his hands, the color having only recently returned to his capillaries. In a few days, the doctors told him, he'd be "good to go." _Good to go where?_ he thought, almost humorously. _Home? Not without Lexie._ Leaving the hospital meant leaving his love, something he wouldn't, couldn't, do.

_Lexie_. He thought of her warm, soft skin. Her silky hair. The way her small body fit against his own. Her smile, blinding in its kindness, its honesty. She was all the best parts of him, she couldn't be gone. Not when they had years and years together; he had meant everything he said to her after the crash. The house, the babies, all of it. She couldn't leave him, she was his heart. Yet, the doctor in him knew that every day she spent in a coma, her odds decreased.

_Lexie,_ he thought again, perhaps whispering it out loud. Exhausted, more from stress and heartache than from his injuries, he slipped into a shallow, fitful rest.

* * *

"Dr. Sloan! Dr. Mark Sloan! Wake up!"

"Mariah," Mark muttered groggily, dragging his hands over his eyes. _Those damn __sedatives._ "Did you finally decide to confess your deep and abiding love to me?"

She didn't even pause to roll her eyes. "I told you what would happen if you got some shut eye boy! There's someone here who really, really wants to see you."

Then, it was all a blur. Someone was wheeled into his room. He craned his neck, seeing Lexie Grey's beautiful face. _Well, I finally went off the deep end_, he thought amusedly to himself, chancing another glance. He wanted to perpetuate the illusion, to look at the woman he loved a little while longer, even if she was just a figment of his imagination.

He closed his eyes tightly and opened them slowly. Still, Lexie, looking at him with huge eyes. This time, he laughed out loud.

"Don't you have something to _say_?" Mariah's hand returned to her hip, pushing the wheelchair farther toward his bed.

"Yeah," said Mark, smiling, "I think I need more of whatever it is you were giving me, Mariah. Or are delusions of grandeur a side effect?"

Then, there it was. A broken, tiny voice, but undeniably, irrefutably, _hers_. "Mark," she whispered extending her hand.

He shot up, swinging his legs out of bed for the first time in two days. Mariah was smiling, "Hey now, steady, don't want your BP..."

He saw pinpricks behind his eyes. The ceiling was the floor. His knees buckled, and then it was black.

"_Mark," _her voice echoed.

* * *

**Let me know what you guys think! More to come very soon! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**I can't thank you all enough for the kind words of encouragement and follows! I really appreciate it, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter.**

* * *

"Look who decided to join us for lunch!" Mark Sloan awoke to an unusually gentle expression from Miranda Bailey as his pupils adapted to the jarringly bright room. He shifted in his mountain of pillows, reverting his eyes to the ceiling.

"I had an amazing dream," he said wistfully. "Well, terrible, actually, because it was just a dream. But it was so damn amazing, Bailey."

"Do I even wanna ask?" Miranda smiled, taking the tone most self-respecting women did with him.

He swatted her arm. "Not like that you pervert. God, what have you all at Seattle Grace been doing without me as your moral compass?"

"Somehow we've managed," she retorted, bustling around the room in her typically busy way.

"I dreamt..." Tears suddenly, surprisingly, sprung to Mark Sloan's eyes; eyes he'd kept dry through a childhood of empty promises and abandonment; through losing his best friend and gaining him back again; through learning Sloane was leaving him. The only thing that could crack Mark Sloan's impeccable facade was Lexie. _God, I wish it were real._

"I don't have all day, golden boy," Bailey chided, "I think I've got a patient we _both_ know needs some attending to."

Mark's brow furrowed in confusion. "Miranda, I believe it was you who told me not to even think about practicing until I have a few months of recovery under my belt. Why would I know, or-no offense-particularly _care_ about any of your patients?"

Miranda's face took an unexpectedly shocked expression, hand clasped over her mouth. "No wonder," she all but whispered.

"Jesus Bailey, I _said_ no offense! Since when did you become such a wuss?"

Miranda perched at the edge of his hospital bed, a behavior she instructed resident after resident to never do with a patient. _If a situation ever called for breaking my own rules_, she thought, _this is it._

She rested her hand on his arm, all the while staring pointedly into his piercing eyes.

"Not gonna lie Bailey, you're freakin' me out a little here."

Ignoring him, she cleared her throat. "Mark," she began. He looked at her in his usual comical, expectant way. "Mark, do you remember what happened before you fell asleep this morning?"

Mark's mind raced. All he could remember was his dream. Seeing her pale, luminous, ethereal, but alive and alert. Right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to hold. Now it was his turn to clear his throat. "If you had let me finish, Miranda, instead of being so damn jumpy and strange, I was going to share a certain dream I had with you. I must've slept through breakfast, because that's all I remember."

"That's... that's all? You remember a dream you had and that's it?" She looked beyond worried, and it didn't suit her usually confident and assured appearance.

"For the hundredth time now, Miranda, yes! For God's sake, yes. I dreamt Lexie was wheeled into this exact room, right about where you are right now. She said my name, and then I woke up, okay? _Okay_? A man can dream, and Jesus Christ, will you _stop looking at me like that_!"

Much to Mark's annoyance that was rapidly morphing into anxiety, she didn't stop. Her gaze only intensified. "You're in shock," she said abruptly. "You're experiencing a dissociation from reality in which you attribute something that actually happened to a dream state. It's not uncommon with..."

"Wait, _WHAT_?!" Mark bellowed, turning the heads of several nurses even through the closed door. "You people are all nuts! I told you, it was a dream! Come to think of it, even Mariah was acting a little loco this morning."

Bailey snapped her fingers. "You remember something!" she exclaimed. "You said you don't remember anything about this morning, that you slept through breakfast, but you just told me about Mariah!"

Mark put his hands up in mock surrender. "You caught me! If this is some kind of weird study you or Shepherd are doing, could someone at least..."

"Mark, you need to listen to me. Quit the sarcasm for a couple seconds, alright? Take three long, deep breaths. Count to five on your inhale, five on your exhale."

Mark just raised an eyebrow. "With all due respect, Dr. Bailey... What the fuck?"

"JUST DO IT!" _When Miranda yells_, Mark realized, _shit sure gets taken care of_. Soon, he was inhaling and exhaling as if in a yoga class.

"Good," Miranda murmured. "Since I know you're gonna ask, this is to prevent shock from setting in."

"Why would I..." Mark had just enough oxygen flowing to his brain that he could form the thought without completely buckling underneath it. "Miranda." His voice was quiet, hardly belying the utter turmoil he felt twisting his insides in half. "That wasn't a dream, was it?"

She shook her head, eyes bleary with what could only be described as authentic, genuine, Miranda Bailey tears.

He shot up again in bed, but not quickly enough to avoid her uncannily strong hand that pushed him back down. "That's what landed you where you were when I walked in, Sloan."

"Jesus Miranda, please tell me those are tears of joy, because if they aren't, I swear..."

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Dr. Grey-Lexie-is stable, and has been since about six this morning." She sniffled, taking his hand again.

"Stable? Stable the way someone in ICU is stable, or stable the way I'm stable?" His voice was hovering between a whisper and sob, in that all-too-familiar place of ambivalent emotion.

"Stable as in stable enough," she answered, much to Mark's frustration. "She can talk, she has motor skills, she doesn't have any apparent memory or sensory loss, her limbs have remained intact..."

Mark couldn't hold it in any longer. He let out a strangled sound that resembled something either dying or being born. His whole body shuddered, and tears flowed in an uncontrollable river from his eyes. "I'm sorry," he managed through his state, "Miranda, I'm sorry, I just..."

"Hey," she cooed, holding him as if he were an infant. He held onto her scrubs, mortified by his own actions while comforted by hers. "Hey, hey, hey, don't apologize. You've been through hell and back. Cry all you want."

And he did. A good two minutes later, eyes red and tired, he asked the obvious question. "Can I see her?"

Miranda sighed. "Mark, you're a doctor too. You understand the risks she's facing. Lexie's only just been stabilized, and I don't know if getting her heart rate up would be a good idea today."

"Come on, Bailey, it's not like I'm gonna try anything with you in the room," he joked, trying to lighten the intense mood he'd created. Despite his best efforts, his heart was sinking. It wasn't right that Lexie was alive - against all odds - and he was being denied the one thing they both wanted most.

Miranda scowled at his quip. "My mind didn't even go there, you dirty, dirty old man." She wagged a finger, then took on a more serious, doctorly face. "You know the risks," she repeated. "Dr. Hunt and I both agree that she shouldn't have visitors until she's been stable for 24 hours."

Mark sat up to protest, but was briefly silenced by Bailey's authoritative finger. "Go back to sleep, you need your strength. _She _needs your strength. You won't do her much good the way you are now."

Mark wasn't having it. "You know what, Dr. Bailey? I do know the risks. I'm a double board certified surgeon, I know the fucking risks, okay? So I know she could die today. She could die all alone. She could die with her last memory of me not being able to come through for her." His eyes blazed with a single-minded drive.

Bailey dropped her skeptical expression, and Mark took the moment to press on, "I've been told for almost a month now that Lexie needs me to be strong, that I should sleep for Lexie, take my pills for Lexie, _stay alive_ for Lexie. And I have. I've been good, Miranda, I have." Her face was softening under the infamous Mark Sloan sales pitch.

"But I'm being strong now, too. And I know, as a doctor and as the man who loves her, that she needs me now. Not tomorrow, not six hours from now, not next week. Now."

Miranda hesitated, clearly uncertain. "Mark..."

"_Do it_, Bailey. Let me see her or I swear to God there will be no more healthy Mark Sloan."

She threw her hands up in the air. "I'd want to do the same if it was my husband in there. I feel you, Mark, I really do. Let me check her vitals and talk to Owen, and I'll see what I can do."

"Let _me_ check her vitals. Oh, and I'll talk to Hunt. You can bet on that," he all but spat.

"No need for the misplaced anger, Mark. Won't do anybody any good. And you're not Lexie's doctor. So you sit your pretty little ass down and stay there, understand? I'll be back as soon as I can."

Mark grumbled something unintelligible.

"_Understand_?" Miranda was insistent, clearly waiting for his confirmation.

"Yeah," Mark conceded, and Bailey turned on her heel, bustling out of the room. "Hey!" he called, "Don't think I didn't hear you sexually harassing me, Bailey! I'll sue."

She just smiled, relieved good old Mark was back.

"_Pretty little ass,"_ he muttered to himself. Immediately, a clear-as-day image of Lexie's perfectly shaped behind popped into his head. He was holding it like he liked to when he kissed her, pulling her in...

_What the fuck is wrong with me? _He thought to himself, shocked at where his mind wandered. _I've known she's okay for all of 20 minutes, and this is what I think about? I don't deserve her._

Then, with a stroke of introspection quite uncharacteristic of Mark Sloan, he realized why he was thinking about getting...intimate...with Lexie. Not for the orgasm, not even for the sex. He wanted her because he loved her, had missed her. He just needed her close.

* * *

Lexie Grey was uncomfortable to say the least. Physically, for starters; her legs ached, apparently due to their bones having been shattered by debris. _At least they could keep both,_ she repeatedly told herself, trying to be optimistic. Her wrist was searing, made even worse by Bailey informing her it might never gain back full mobility. Her head pounded from the brain surgery she'd undergone to reduce its swelling. Oh, and her ass hurt like _hell _from being sat on for almost a month while she was out.

Mentally, she had no idea what was going on. She knew only the bare basics; there were, miraculously, no fatalities from the crash. Derek hurt his hand, perhaps irreparably, and Arizona lost her leg. Thinking of how active and energetic Arizona was, the idea of her disabled made Lexie physically sick. Cristina was suffering severe mental ramifications, so much so she was considering taking a job somewhere else. Lexie couldn't blame her. And Mer, of course, seemed to be holding everyone together.

Mark, she was told upon waking, had sustained considerable injuries, though not as serious as hers, and he was on the mend. _Although_, she thought,_ he didn't seem so "on the mend" when he insisted I was a hallucination and then passed out._ This thought, however, didn't really phase her. She had seen him. She had seen him and he was alive. She had seen him and he was alive and she couldn't be happier. She hoped against hope he'd meant what he said to her when he thought she was dying; that they weren't just placating last words to someone he'd never see again. This event, more than any other, made it clear as day to her that they were meant to spend the rest of their lives together.

She wondered about Julia; where they stood. Had _she_ been the one at his bedside, nursing him back to health, as Lexie lay helpless? Had _she _been making him countless promises and soothing his wounds? Lexie dragged the negativity out of her head, trying to focus on the present.

All she could do was wait and see and hope and love.

* * *

"Rise and shine, sleepy head." A gruff voice jolted Mark awake, and he found himself face to face with Owen Hunt upon opening his eyes.

Absolutely mortified with his lack of control over falling asleep, he managed a strangled, "How long was I out?"

"Less than an hour," Owen reassured him, in his calm and collected manner. As if reading Mark's mind, he continued, "You and I both know that after suffering severe heart damage the way you did, sleeping is an entirely involuntary action."

Mark didn't looked convinced.

"Lexie's been sleeping too," Owen added quietly, so as not to alert the male nurse Mark realized was standing at the corner of the room.

"What's his deal?" Mark asked regarding the nurse.

Owen smiled. "This is Josh. Josh, meet Dr. Mark Sloan."

The man, whose muscles gave Mark's a run for his money, extended his hand. "It's an honor, Dr. Sloan."

"Mark, call me Mark. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Josh. But I'm sensing you're here for more than my good looks and charm."

Josh smiled. "Yes sir. I'll be escorting you to see Dr. Grey this afternoon."

Mark Sloan had never been a particularly touchy, effusive man. But at that moment, he felt like hugging Owen for clearing him to see Lexie.

Instead, he kept his arms appropriately at his sides, looking Dr. Hunt right in the eyes. "From man to man," he said, "thank you, Owen."

Was that a _blush_ creeping into Owen's cheeks? He waved a hand. "It's not a problem, really. I see no real risk for either of you."

"Then why the chaperone?" Mark asked, eyes narrowed. "No offense," he added flippantly, gesturing to Josh.

"I'll let it slide," Josh smiled. "Dr. Sloan-Mark-you've been subjected to some pretty serious trauma, specifically to your cardiac region. I've been assigned to be present with you at all times while you visit Dr. Grey. Once Dr. Grey is well enough to leave her room, she'll have a supervising nurse as well."

"Gee, Hunt, thanks for telling me about the lovely catch. No offense, Josh."

Owen scowled. "Actually, Mark, offense. We would never normally let two patients in your condition visit each other. We don't have the staff to supervise such," he waved his hands about, "...antics. This is a favor to you and to Grey. You could try to be thankful. Or at least tolerable."

"Hunt, when have I _ever_ been tolerable? I mean, unless we're talking certain circumstances, in which case I've been told I'm considerably more than tolerable. In fact..."

"Alright, okay!" Owen laughed, raising his palms in surrender. "Do you want to see your girlfriend or not? I do have patients, Sloan."

Mark's face turned completely stoic, and he nodded. "I'm all yours, Josh. Take me to Dr. Grey."

* * *

**Things are looking up for our dynamic duo... or are they? ;) Please review! **


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